


Stiles and the Flawless Plan

by ureshiiichigo



Series: Bizarre Love Polyhedron [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ADHD, Angst with a Happy Ending, But they do it anyway, Coming Out, Crack, Creeper Peter Hale, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Gen, Humor, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, POV Stiles, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Pre-Slash, Scott and Stiles do not enjoy making out, Scott is Stiles' pimp, Scott is a Good Friend, Stalker Derek Hale, Stiles is kind of an asshole, Stilinski Family Feels, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ureshiiichigo/pseuds/ureshiiichigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what anyone else says, Stiles comes up with great plans, okay? Maybe this wasn't one of his best ideas, but it's mutually beneficial. Him and Scott are already bros. Calling each other boyfriends isn't <i>that</i> different, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles and the Terrible Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the ever helpful [percygranger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/percygranger) and [gretchen4321](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gretchen4321). Cheerleading/handholding provided by the lovely [desiderii](http://archiveofourown.org/users/desiderii). Thank you all. This story would not exist without you. :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Give Me Hope - New Politics](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93ONnBHMr6c)

“Wait, you’re saying you _don’t_ want sympathy beer?” Stiles was leaning back on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankle. His butt was getting damp from the grass, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“No! I’m not—” Scott stopped, frustrated. “I don’t want sympathy at all.”

“Whatever. You can totally milk sympathy beer.”

Scott scrunched up his nose, shooting Stiles a bewildered expression. “I don’t think you can put milk in beer, Stiles. It curdles.”

Stiles sighed. “So not the point! Anyway, you _haven’t_ moved on.”

Scott looked out past the cliff edge, where the creek had risen to twice its normal level after the recent rainstorm. His knee knocked against Stiles’. “So?”

“Why are you trying to convince everyone that you have?” Stiles swayed closer to bump into Scott’s shoulder. “Like, maybe if everyone else believes it, it’ll come true?”

“Look, I just… I want her to be happy.”

“Well, couldn’t she be happy with you?”

Scott turned away.

Stiles sighed. “I’m sorry, man, I just… don’t get it.”

They were both quiet for a few minutes. The burble of water and the chirping of cicadas were the only things that Stiles could hear. Scott, on the other hand, must be able to hear everything within three miles. It made sense that he would go out to the forest when he could.

“You were cool with Derek leaving town. To go on his soul quest, or whatever.”

Stiles glared back at him. He’d been trying not to think about Derek and his disappearing act, thank-you-very-much. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Sorry,” Scott said, a flash of guilt crossing his face. “Bad example. Lydia. You want Lydia to be happy, right?”

“Lydia?” Stiles sat up straight, shifting his weight away from his arms. “Yeah, of course, but—”

“And she’s not with you, is she?”

“Hey, that’s different. Allison is totally happy with you, it’s been _proven_ , she—”

“She’s better off with Isaac. And he won’t date her until I say it’s okay.”

“So say it’s okay!”

“I tried. He doesn’t believe me.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles shifted forward a few feet to dangle his feet over the cliff edge, staring into the rushing current below. He wasn’t worried; if he lost his balance, Scott would catch him.

After a few moments of comfortable, if morose, silence, Stiles finally spoke. “What if you were dating someone?”

“What?” Scott turned towards Stiles, his brow furrowing adorably in that way he had. The _I’m totally confused, please help me understand_ look.

Stiles plucked a blade of grass and started splitting it with his thumbnail. “Like, you move on. Start seeing someone. Obviously that means Allison’s up for grabs. No awkward conversation needed.”

“I can’t…”

“So _pretend_ to date someone! I don’t know.”

“I’m not going to fake date some poor girl who doesn’t even know I’m a werewolf!”

“So don’t!”

“But there’s no one—”

“Date me!” Oh, shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Stiles could tell his face was flushed red. Even his ears felt hot.

“Ha, ha,” Scott said, glaring over at Stiles. “Very funny.” Unfortunately for Scott, his glare looked more like a pout. Scott had to be the least intimidating alpha Stiles had ever seen. “I’m serious!”

Stiles looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. “So am I.”

“Wait. What?” Stiles looked up. Scott’s eyes were wide. “Do you seriously have a crush on me? Oh my God, Stiles, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have made fun of you, I—”

“Shut up, Scott! I don’t have a crush on you, Jesus!”

“Then why the hell would you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Your _fake_ boyfriend,” Stiles corrected.

Scott rolled his eyes. “My fake boyfriend.”

“Because,” Stiles paused and took a steadying breath. “The last time I tried to come out to my dad, it didn’t go so well. If we’re dating, then… well…”

Scott looked suitably chastised. “Oh.”

“Plus, it’ll totally make Lydia jealous.”

Scott snorted. “Right.”

“Hey! It will! Besides, I have a feeling Coach Finstock is trying to set me up with Greenberg. He made us swap phone numbers the other day and the kid won’t stop texting me.”

Scott shuddered.

“I know, right?” Stiles grimaced. Even thinking about Greenberg’s last text ( _wut r u doin tmw nite???_ ) made him want to turn off his phone. Permanently. Then drop it into a volcano.

Scott bit his lip. He was wearing his “thinking” face that he normally reserved for pop quizzes and trivia nights. “If we do this… we gotta go all out.”

“All out? What do you mean, all out?”

“Werewolves can smell things. I mean, we don’t have to have sex or anything, but—”

“Are you kidding? Do you think either of us is the _wait until marriage_ type?”

Scott winced. “Okay, so, we’ll have to smell… like each other.”

Stiles tapped a finger against his bottom lip. “So, what, jerk off onto each other’s clothing?”

“Gross!”

“Yeah, okay, maybe this isn’t going to work…”

“No, it’s just… I would have to be covered in your jizz. All day.”

Stiles resisted the urge to gag. “Wow, thanks for that image.”

“Look, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Oh come on. When has a plan of mine gone wrong?” Stiles frowned, stopping to consider. “No, wait. Don’t answer that.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Look, we’re not… No. This is dumb. We’re not doing this.”

“Fine, fine, whatever. If you’re not going to pretend to be dating someone, though, you have to share your pity beer.”

“Stiles, no one is going to give me pity beer. I can’t get _drunk_ off of it.”

“Which is why you’re sharing, duh.” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows in a way that he knew Scott found charming. He just didn’t like to admit it.

Scott sighed. “You’re so weird.”

“That’s why you love me!”

***

The problem was, Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The idea was like a scab. It was just there, taunting him, and the more he itched at it, the worse it got. Every time he thought he’d dismissed the idea of fake-dating Scott, it would pop up at inconvenient times. When he was trying to get to sleep. While he was driving to school in the morning. When he was jerking off in the shower.

That last one, especially, had been annoying. Talk about a boner killer.

But he wasn’t going to bring it up again. He’d promised Scott he’d forget about it. So he’d stay silent on the subject. He’d keep mum. Zip his lip. Say nothing. Breathe not a word.

“Hey, Stiles, I think I left my history textbook at your house, have you seen—”

“Why won’t you fake go out with me?”

“Oh my God. I’m not talking about this. Let me know if you see my textbook.”

Then Scott hung up on him, the asshole.


	2. Entirely Stiles' Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Bring You Down - The Dear Hunter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CKai68kNjc)

“Look,” Stiles tried, as he cornered Scott at his locker before first period. “It would be mutually beneficial. We both get people off our backs. It’s not like that much would change, anyway,” he added. “Just, you know, more making out.”

Scott groaned and shuffled towards class. “That’s your selling point? Really?”

“What? Making out with me can be good. I’ve done it before. I’m a good kisser.”

“Yeah?” Scott raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Hey, don’t give me that look! I have it on good authority that—” Stiles stopped in his tracks. Scott kept going. Stiles jogged to catch up. “Okay, so I never actually got a confirmation that my kissing skills were good. But, uh, she didn’t run away screaming?”

Scott sighed. Loudly. “Can we talk about this later?” He tilted his head pointedly at the door to his algebra class.

Stiles frowned. “Fine. But not, like, later as in next month. Later as in lunch. This is _going down_.” Stiles’ inner twelve year old giggled. “Wait, bad word choice.”

“Yes, mom,” Scott said, and pushed the door open with one arm.

“Gross, I am _not_ your mother, don’t even say that!” Stiles shouted after him. He looked up at the hallway clock. Shit. He was going to be late for Spanish. Again.

***

“Fine,” Stiles said as they both set down their lunch trays between Lydia and Ethan. Stiles attempted his best Scott-puppy-eyes impression. “I’m sorry I keep bringing it up. I promise I’ll stop bugging you about it.”

Scott growled. Literally growled. All the puppies looked over in surprise. Danny even lifted his eyebrows. Lydia, of course, simply continued piercing peas with her fork one-by-one, not even bothering to look up from her plate.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked, scooting his chair closer and scooping up a bite of mashed potatoes. “I’m apologizing! I can’t drop the subject before I apologize, that would just be rude.”

Scott rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Stiles.”

“What? Dude, what’s with the one word responses, you’re acting more like Derek already, is this an alpha thing?”

“Shut up!” Scott said, but it sounded less like a Derek-style _shut up_ , which would have been angry and growly, and more like a kindergarten-era Scott _shut up_ , replete with the bright red flush to his cheeks and the embarrassed grimace. “You asked for this, okay? I’m just letting you know. This is _entirely your fault_.”

“What’s entirely my—mmph,” Stiles started to say, before he was very rudely interrupted by Scott’s tongue. In his mouth.

Scott’s _tongue_. In his _mouth_.

Gross.

“Jesus!” Stiles managed, as soon as Scott pulled away. He vaguely registered that the spoon holding his potatoes had landed on the floor.

“I warned you,” Scott mumbled.

Scott had just kissed him. Which meant… he was totally down with the fake boyfriends plan! Stiles’ face broke into a huge grin. “I _love_ you.”

Scott grimaced. “Oh my God, can we please not in public?”

“Tell that to my tonsils,” Stiles retorted, before he noticed that everyone was staring.

Everyone.

Not just the wolves, though they looked more shocked than most — no, in fact the _entire_ cafeteria was angled in Stiles’ direction. Well, Scott and Stiles’ direction. There was definite judging going on.

Stiles felt his face go hot. “Shit.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Well, you wanted people to know. I guess they know now.”

Stiles slouched lower in his seat. “Anyone have a spare spoon?”

Lydia pushed hers over wordlessly.

***

“Oh my God,” Stiles murmured, as he had been doing for the past fifteen minutes.

“For the last time, Bilinski, shut your pie hole! We’re here to learn economics, not religion!”

Stiles sunk lower in his seat.

Isaac leaned over from his seat next to Stiles. “For what it’s worth, that kiss looked really hot.”

Stiles tried to sink until his head was no longer visible over his desk.

***

_2 unread text messages_

_From Greenbutt: hey i didnt no u wer dating scott sorry about all the txts_  
 _From Greenbutt: do u2 want 2 go out 4 pizza l8r???_

***

“I take it all back,” Stiles moaned. “I’m sorry I ever came up with this stupid plan.”

Scott smacked Stiles over the back of the head. When Stiles turned to level a death glare at him, he was grinning dopily. “Well, I’m not.”

“What? You’re not?” Stiles slumped into Scott’s shoulder and tried to swat away his game controller. He could totally knock him off the race track if he could just move the joystick a little to the left…

“Allison sent me a text.” The guy practically had hearts in his eyes. Stiles would throw up, but it was _Scott_.

Scott shoved his cellphone into Stiles’ hand and resumed navigating the rainbow bridge, cheerfully shooting lightning bolts and electrocuting all the other racers. Stiles was too busy gawking at Scott’s phone to notice that he was plummeting off a cliff.

_From Allison: I’m happy for you two! Want to go bowling with me & Isaac tomorrow? :)_

“What?”

Scott shrugged. “I guess he moves fast.”

“Why are you happy? Like, I know you said you wanted this, but—”

Scott beamed. “She wants us to come with on her date!”

Stiles blinked at Scott before glancing back down at his phone again. It wasn’t until he saw Scott’s just-sent reply that Stiles started hyperventilating.

_To Allison: Sounds fun, see you after school!! <3_

“Dude, did you just send your ex-girlfriend a heart?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Scott asked. He frowned, but his attention was still on the television. Stiles, on the other hand, had given up any delusions of getting less than last place, and was absentmindedly holding down the gas pedal and occasionally tilting the joystick when he got stuck on something. Like a cliff wall.

“Uh, you generally don’t send hearts to people you’re not dating. It’s, like, rule number one of the ex handbook.”

Scott rolled his eyes, leaning back as he crossed the finish line, and reached for Stiles’ controller. “And how many exes have you had?”

“What, that’s totally irrelevant.”

Scott got Stiles to sixth place out of nine. Stiles celebrated by jumping on Scott and messing up his hair, which he patiently tolerated.

“Hey, man,” Stiles said, after Scott had gotten tired of Stiles’ shenanigans, flipped him over, and started sitting on him, “I gave you a noogie, that’s almost like nookie, now you can tell everyone you got laid.”

“Yeah, Stiles, more like _you_ got laid. On the couch. With me on top.”

Stiles flexed his butt muscles, checking to see if he could get Scott to slide off, but he was pretty solid. “You weigh a ton, dude.”

“More than you do,” Scott agreed.

***

“Hey!” Allison said, pulling Stiles into a hug. Stiles tried not to think about how squishy her boobs were. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“No problem,” Scott said, a dopey smile on his face.

Isaac, of course, looked perfectly relaxed in his polo and jeans and bowling shoes. “You look good,” he commented, his gaze flicking to the collar of Scott’s button down — which, by the way, was totally inappropriate for bowling. Stiles, on the other hand, was rocking his Wesley Crushers bowling team tee — thematically appropriate _and_ flattering — but apparently deserved no lingering once overs.

“Why did we agree to go bowling, again?” Stiles hissed in Scott’s direction.

“Allison likes it,” he said, still looking Goofier than the cartoon dog.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Okay, new rule, no more bowling for the next three — no, six — months.”

Isaac grinned and reached over to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder. “Deal.”

Stiles looked back at Scott, who was still grinning like a moron, while everyone else put on their bowling shoes. Isaac had started perusing the rack of bowling balls. “Come on, loser,” Stiles said, grabbing Scott’s wrist and tugging him towards the shoe rack. “Try the size ten, you always complain about how the size nine and a half pinch your toes.”

***

Honestly, this whole fake dating thing was going better than Stiles had expected. That is, until his dad came home and sat down in front of Stiles with his _serious business_ face.

“Is there something you want to tell me, son?”

Stiles had mastered the art of being calm and collected in front of his father. Naturally, he immediately yelped, jumped five feet, and proceeded to shout, “No! Nothing! I’m not doing anything!”

Stiles’ dad just sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. “I hope you never commit a felony, kid, because you can’t lie for crap.”

“Can too!” Stiles said, and, well. Okay. He was a pretty piss-poor liar. But only for stupid things. The whole, hey-dad-so-werewolves-are-real thing? Yeah, he’d managed to lie about that just fine, but when he finally told his dad, did he believe him? No, of _course_ not. One of these days—

“Stiles,” his dad said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Stiles.”

“What, huh? Oh.” Stiles managed a grin. “Yeah, what’s cookin’, Dad?”

“Your use of teenage vernacular will not scare me away, Stiles.”

“Uh. Did you want something?”

Stiles’ dad rolled his eyes. He leaned down to the floor and picked up a box that Stiles hadn’t noticed the first time.

“Condoms? Oh my God, Dad, what are you even—”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Greenberg says congratulations, by the way. As does Alan Deaton.”

Stiles… had not pictured his coming out speech this way.

In his imagination, there had been more smiling. Less suspicion. Also, more balloons.

“Where are the balloons?” he blurted.

Stiles’ dad just sighed. “Kid, I love you, but I have no idea what Scott sees in you.”

“Gee, _thanks_!” Stiles yelled, turning to stomp out of the kitchen. Then, he turned around and snatched up the box of condoms. They would probably expire before he got a chance to use them, but, hey, waste not want not. “And we will _never_ speak of this again.”

“Noted,” Stiles’ dad said as Stiles marched up the stairs to his bedroom, but he could tell that his dad was smirking. Traitor.


	3. Trouble in Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Tonight - We Are Scientists](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dnr_vnu230U)

“How long do you want to do this?” Scott asked.

They were laying on Stiles’ bed, the laptop screen showing the ending scenes of The Day the Earth Stood Still. Stiles was too sleepy to do much more than nuzzle further into Scott’s back. “Wha?”

Scott rolled around so he was face-to-face with Stiles. “This fake dating thing. When do you want to break up?”

Stiles paused. “Oh.”

Scott frowned, then his expression cleared and he shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter right now. I was just wondering.”

Stiles was silent as Scott rolled back around and tugged Stiles’ arm back across his shoulders. Stiles felt something cold and unpleasant worm its way into his chest, and he didn’t know how to get it out.

***

When Stiles went over to the McCall house for Call of Duty that weekend, Scott didn’t curse quite as loudly as he usually did when Stiles got in a headshot. Granted, Stiles let Scott get in a few of his own, so maybe he was in a good mood.

***

A week and a half later, they were the last ones in the locker room after lacrosse practice when Scott turned to Stiles with a determined expression on his face. “I think we should break up,” Scott said, puppy eyes in full force.

Stiles stopped in the middle of pulling on his shirt to stare at Scott. “What? No!” Stiles knew he was whining, but he didn’t really care.

Scott sighed, picking at the straps of his backpack. “It’s just… Allison’s dating Isaac now. I don’t need to do this any more.”

Stiles made a whimpering sound. “Come on, man, it’s not that bad! We’re spending more time together than ever, isn’t that a good thing?” He pulled his hoodie over his head with a minimum of flailing. “And we haven’t had to make out since then,” he added.

Scott actually flushed red. “Well.”

Stiles frowned as he ran a hand through his hair to smooth it out. “What?”

“We could.”

“We could what?”

“Make out.”

Stiles lifted an eyebrow. “You really want to make out with me?”

Scott’s expression fell. “No.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “That’s what I thought. Come on, boyfriend, let’s get you home and we can order Chinese and watch bad kung fu movies.”

Scott sighed, but he didn’t mention breaking up again.

***

“It’s just,” Scott said, nine days later, “I think if people knew it were fake they’d get mad at us.”

Stiles shoved Scott into the sofa cushions. “So don’t tell them it’s fake!”

The puppy eyes came out again. “But when we break up, they’ll know.”

“What do you mean, they’ll know?”

“We won’t be _sad_. I mean, shouldn’t we be sad that we had to break up?”

Stiles bit his lip. He might be sad when they broke up, but it made sense that Scott wouldn’t. “Come on, haven’t you ever heard of an amicable break up? It happens all the time! We’ll be fine, dude.”

Scott pouted, but then got momentarily distracted when Stiles mashed the B button, cackling in glee as he pranced around in his stolen Mario hat, before Donkey Kong ambled over and smashed Kirby’s face in.

***

Scott was pouting at lunch the next day, so Stiles gave him his pudding cup, which caused his dorky grin to come back in full force. Stiles didn’t even like vanilla pudding that much, but he knew it was Scott’s favorite.

“So apparently Derek’s coming back,” Lydia mentioned, voice casual. She peered down at her perfect manicure with a bored expression.

“What? When? How? Why?” Stiles’ flailing hands knocked into his lunch tray, nearly spilling his orange juice, but Scott reached out to steady the glass.

“Where’d you hear that?” Scott said, calm as ever. He scooped up another spoonful of pudding.

“I have my sources,” Lydia said, smug smile on her face. Next to her, Aiden rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond.

“He has a blog,” Danny pointed out, stealing a french fry from Ethan’s tray. “Don’t you read it?”

“Uh, _no_ , nobody told me there was a blog,” Stiles said, “why did nobody tell me there was a blog, I would have been _reading_ it.”

Lydia snorted, which in Stiles’ opinion was very unladylike. “Because you would have read it, obviously.”

Stiles frowned. Scott jabbed him in the side with his elbow and swapped his orange juice for extra fries.

“So when is he coming?” Isaac cut in, and Stiles resisted the urge to say something inappropriate.

Lydia tapped her fingernails against the table. “He didn’t say. You’ll have to ask him.”

Stiles tuned out the buzz of conversation. Derek was coming back, and Stiles had been avoiding thinking about him for so long, it was hard to think of anything else. Had he mellowed out any in his time away? Found inner peace, and all that? What would he look like? Would his hair have grown out? Had he grown a mountain man beard? Would he still have all those ridiculous muscles, and run around the preserve shirtless at every opportunity?

Stiles was sort of hoping for an affirmative on that last one.

When Stiles looked around, he realized that a dead silence had fallen over the table, and Scott was looking at him with a stricken expression. “Uh, Stiles, want to go outside for a sec?”

“Huh? What?” The werewolves were all looking at him and Scott with amused grins.

Scott stood up and pulled at Stiles’ sleeve. “Bye guys, talk about Derek later,” he blurted, and then he was dragging Stiles into the first floor bathroom next to the chemistry classroom.

“You have the hots for Derek,” Scott accused.

“What? I… what?” Stiles frowned. “No I don’t.”

“Oh my God, Stiles, the whole pack could _smell you_.”

“Smell me what?” Comprehension dawned. Or rather, comprehension socked Stiles over the head with a two by four. “Gross! Also, total invasion of privacy.”

“Look, we should kiss, okay?”

Stiles blinked. “Really?”

Scott grimaced. “Otherwise, I think our cover’s blown.”

“Okay, yeah,” Stiles said. He moved closer to Scott.

Scott was still grimacing.

“Dude, try to look less like you’re being forced to make out with your mom.”

“I’m sorry!” Scott said, his arms flailing a little. Stiles felt a bit of pride at passing along his legacy of arm-flailing. “It just feels weird when I’m kissing someone who’s not Allison.”

Stiles sighed. “So pretend it’s Allison, I don’t know.”

Scott shook his head. “You feel different.”

Stiles groaned. “Come on, there’s got to be someone besides Allison you’d be willing to kiss!”

To Stiles’ surprise and mild alarm, Scott flushed, set his jaw, and let his gaze flick down to Stiles’ mouth. Stiles closed his eyes.

Okay, less tongue this time. That was good. Except, ugh, he was thinking about Scott, and Scott was his bro, and this was totally unarousing.

He tried picturing Lydia, but he was pretty sure Lydia didn’t have stubble. Hell, even Danny didn’t have stubble, and Danny was his go-to gay fantasy.

Derek Hale, though. Derek Hale had stubble.

Stiles felt hands running through his hair and he thanked God he’d decided to skip the buzz cut this fall. His own hands tangled into dark waves, and Stiles let out a whimper when a slick tongue brushed against his bottom lip.

“Whoah,” Scott said, effectively breaking the spell. When he pulled away, Stiles felt a little woozy. He let his hands drop and blinked a few times.

Scott’s smile turned smug as he scanned Stiles’ mouth. “Okay, good. You definitely look like someone’s been attacking your face.”

“I… what?”

Scott simply shrugged and looped a hand around Stiles’ wrist, tugging him out of the bathroom. When they emerged, they got a couple wolf whistles (at least, that’s what Stiles called them in his head, because he was a _pun master_ ), but otherwise made it to class unharmed.


	4. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Chasing You - Capital Cities (feat. Soseh)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUPOG-UfOOk)

Once he got home from school, it only took Stiles fourteen and a half minutes to find Derek’s blog.

_D & C’s road trip_, read the extremely unimaginative title. Derek wrote in the first person, and he only ever referred to Cora as C. It took Stiles a moment to figure out that L meant Laura. Why Derek was writing about his dead sister almost as much as his living one, though, Stiles had no clue.

There were blog entries once every five days or so, sometimes stretching as far as two weeks in between, and each entry had the name of a different city on it.

The one labeled “Wichita” simply read, “Too many flies.”

Under the Vail entry, it read, “L really liked skiing, so of course it makes sense that C would hate it,” and Stiles felt something twist in his stomach. He’d visited the Sierra Nevadas with his mom and dad when he was little. It was one of the last vacations he’d taken while his mom was still alive. She hadn’t died until years later, but the cancer treatments had kept them from traveling.

He scrolled back up to the latest entry, dated three days ago and titled, “Seattle,” and the second to last sentence said “I think C’s finally ready to come back home.”

The last sentence said, “So am I.”

***

Stiles spent three hours agonizing over whether or not to leave a comment on Derek’s latest entry; thirty minutes trying to word the comment so that he didn’t sound like an idiot or an asshole; forty five minutes searching for his dad’s Scotch, organizing the pantry into rainbow order, back into basic food groups and _then_ rainbow order, throwing out the stale circus animal cookies that his dad had hidden in the pantry, then digging them back out again; and twelve minutes munching cookies on the couch, in the dark, in his boxers and a ratty t-shirt.

When his dad got home from the evening shift, he stumbled into the living room, stole a cookie, and dropped a blanket over Stiles’ head.

***

“Scott,” Stiles whined in his most pathetic voice the next morning, “Why did no one tell me Derek was coming back?”

Scott just smiled and nodded absently. “Uh huh.”

Stiles cuffed his ear. “Would you at least pretend that you’re listening to me?”

“Sorry.” Scott turned the full effect of his puppy eyes on Stiles.

“Ugh,” Stiles said, charmed despite himself. “You’re too cute. Someone needs to put you down before you attract a horde of orphans and unicorns and baby bunnies.”

Scott just beamed at him, that crooked grin he used when Stiles said something nice about him — the one that showed his teeth and made his left eye crinkle at the corner — and promptly turned Stiles’ insides into a puddle of goo.

Stiles glared back at his best friend. There was such a thing as being _too_ awesome.

“So…” Stiles said, forcing himself to ignore the sunshine emanating from Scott’s general vicinity. “Derek? You been talking to him much?”

Scott shrugged, settling back against the lockers. “Well, I am his alpha.”

Stiles may have flailed. A little. “What? Since when?”

Scott blinked, his mouth a little moue of surprise. “Since before he left town?”

“Seriously?” Nobody told Stiles _anything_.

Scott narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “Why do you care?”

Stiles couldn’t really answer that, so he just glared at Scott instead.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s going to change anything,” Scott added. “You have a boyfriend.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles frowned. “Oh, right. Yeah.”

Scott’s puppy eyes turned sad. “Did you seriously forget that we’re dating?”

“No!” Stiles said. “Of course not. I’d never forget my bro. My main man. My best friend forever. My homedog. My beffy. My bosom buddy. My pal. My—”

“Yeah, no, just stop,” Scott said, fleeing in the direction of his first period classroom.

***

“Hey,” Scott mused as he hand-fed Stiles a curly fry on the way home from school. “Do you think we should do something when Derek gets back?”

“What?”

“Like, we could throw him a welcome home party, or something.”

Stiles scowled around his fry, waiting until he pulled up at a red light to turn towards the passenger seat and glare at Scott. “Dude, you’re the alpha now. Why’re you asking me?”

Scott shrugged and obediently passed over another fry when Stiles opened his mouth wide. “Who else would I ask?”

“I don’t know!” Stiles said, his mouth still full of half-chewed fry. “Who knows Derek, anyway? You could ask Peter, I guess.” He shuddered even as the words left his mouth. “Okay, not Peter.”

“Stiles,” Scott whined. “Come on, you're my bro. You're like... my second in command now! We gotta do pack things together. And you're good with plans.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mister.”

“Hey, you’re the one who was complaining that no one told you that Derek was coming back.”

Stiles glared, but it was impossible to determine its effectiveness until he was done checking the mirrors. “That’s totally different! That’s you keeping me out of the loop, not—“ He risked a glance over at Scott, and sure enough, the jerk was grinning like he _enjoyed_ Stiles’ pain. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Scott said, and he sounded way too amused for Stiles’ liking.

“Soda,” Stiles commanded, and Scott brought the straw up to Stiles’ lips as he pulled up next to the curb and shifted the jeep into park. “Like, even if we did throw the guy a party, who would we invite? It’s not like he has any friends.” At best, he had frenemies, the odd nemesis, and resentful family members.

Scott sighed. “He has you.”

Stiles blinked. “What?” Derek was _not_ Stiles’ friend.

Derek was the guy who snarled at Stiles, who pushed him into walls and shoved him around and made poor decisions like biting emotionally unstable teenagers and sleeping with psychopaths. Derek was tragically emotionally stunted, and bodice-rippingly handsome. He had the sense of humor of a depressed four year old whose parents had let him watch one too many horror films.

Which is why, when Scott rolled his eyes at Stiles’ confusion, Stiles was understandably cranky. “I’m telling you, he’s not my friend,” he snapped. Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt and was halfway out the door before Scott started talking again.

“You like him though, right?” Scott called out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.” Stiles strode up the front walk with a skip in his step. Maybe if he walked faster, he could walk away from the conversation.

Scott jogged to catch up. “You get all hot and bothered whenever anyone talks about him.”

“So? That’s not the same thing as being friends.”

“Whatever,” Scott said, shoving Stiles inside and locking the deadbolt behind him. “You like him, he likes you, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Stiles stopped in the front hall, hand still clasped around his backpack straps, and twisted around to face Scott. “What are you even talking about, dude.”

Scott just raised his eyebrows. “He likes you. You know that, right?”

“What? No he doesn’t.”

“Oh my God,” Scott said, rolling his eyes, and striding past Stiles to the kitchen.

Stiles ran after him. “No, what do you mean, he likes me? The guy hates me. Since when has he given any indication to the contrary?”

“Look, I can just tell, okay?” He turned and threw a sly grin in Stiles’ direction. “Maybe you could date him after we break up.”

“Jesus, Scott,” Stiles said, throwing Scott his best glare, “would you _stop_ trying to break up with me?”

“Sorry,” Scott said, sounding just contrite enough for Stiles to stop pouting.

Stiles sighed and swung his backpack onto the McCall’s kitchen table as Scott started rummaging in the fridge for juice. “But seriously,” Stiles said, “it doesn’t matter whether I want to worship Derek’s abs with my tongue or not, because the guy hates me.”

“Fine, stay in denial if you want,” Scott said. “I’m still putting you in charge of Derek’s party.”


	5. Welcoming Committee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Drumming Song - Florence + the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpLXQorSQe8)

_To Scott: does Derek have a favorite color?_

_From Scott: I don’t think so?_

_To Scott: I’m in the party store looking at balloons_   
_To Scott: and they come in multicolor or you can just get one color_   
_To Scott: but I don’t know if Derek even likes colors_   
_To Scott: like maybe if we had colored balloons he would just scowl at them all_   
_To Scott: and hate everything and everyone_   
_To Scott: plus the streamers don’t come in multicolor and I want to get streamers_

_From Scott: Do you need me to ask him?_

_To Scott: no it’s cool_   
_To Scott: I’m just going to get black ones_

***

_To Scott: is Allison still in her sort of vegetarian phase where she won’t eat red meat_  
 _To Scott: because I’m not getting fish for the party because that would start to smell_  
 _To Scott: you can thank me later for my awesome forethought_

_From Scott: Stiles I’m at work right now_

_To Scott: I think I’ll just get chicken shish kabobs_   
_To Scott: maybe a veggie platter_   
_To Scott: AND MAC N CHEESE_   
_To Scott: who doesn’t love mac n cheese_   
_To Scott: Hitler, that’s who_   
_To Scott: don’t even try to debate me on this_

***

_To Scott: can werewolves eat chocolate_  
 _To Scott: because chocolate poisons dogs and I don’t want to poison you_  
 _To Scott: seriously that would suck_  
 _To Scott: I can’t imagine being deprived of chocolate your entire life_  
 _To Scott: like, okay. some people just don’t like it. I get that_  
 _To Scott: but_  
 _To Scott: just imagine_  
 _To Scott: if Derek could NEVER eat chocolate_

_From Scott: Styles_   
_From Scott: Its 3 am_   
_From Scott: Why are you texting me_

_To Scott: screw it the brownie mix is on sale_   
_To Scott: if Derek eats it and starts convulsing we’ll just have to pump his stomach_

_From Scott: Omg I’m going back to bed_

***

“Stop freaking out,” Scott said. Stiles whirled around to see him tacking the last handful of streamers in front of the entrance to the kitchen.

“I’m not freaking out,” Stiles snapped. “Don’t tell me to stop when I’m not even doing it in the first place.” He took a deep breath, eyeing the clock and trying to calculate if he had enough time to drive back for the two camper chairs in his dad’s garage, or if they’d just have to make do with the wooden chairs from the dining room set and whatever of Mrs. McCall’s throw pillows he could find. “I can’t stop doing something I’m not doing.”

“I should never have asked you to plan this,” Scott muttered, folding the stepladder and tucking it under one arm.

“I’m an excellent planner, you shut up,” Stiles shouted at his retreating back as he carried the ladder off towards the storage closet. “Should I have bought more fruit?” Stiles asked, casting a side glance at the desserts table. “Like, what if Derek doesn’t eat brownies?”

The doorbell rang, cutting Scott off mid-sentence, and Stiles ran into the kitchen. He still needed to pull the macaroni and cheese out of the oven.

***

“Are you hiding in here?” Scott asked, when he came into the kitchen to grab a Coke from the fridge.

Stiles was still nursing his first glass of scotch, so he managed an articulate, “I’m not hiding; I’ve strategically relocated my current position.”

“What?” Scott asked, his brow furrowed, as he popped off the bottle cap with one claw.

Stiles sighed and stared into the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it around a bit before answering. “Is Peter still hovering creepily?”

Scott took a swig of soda, swallowed, and then sniffed the air. “I think he went upstairs to find Derek.”

“Oh, great, so there’ll be two Hales that want to bite me, but for different reasons.” He bit his bottom lip before letting it slide out from between his teeth. “Can you bring me a shish kebab?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “If you didn’t want to deal with Peter, why did you invite him?” He didn’t wait for Stiles’ response before heading out of the kitchen.

“I didn’t invite him!” Stiles shouted after Scott as the streamer doorway rustled behind him. “He just comes anyway. Like the creepy creeper he is.”

***

The second glass of scotch went down easier than the first, and Cora seemed super interested in his theories on ways to recreate the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in a laboratory setting, so, whatever, Stiles was still going to count the party as a win.

***

Stiles was munching on a kebab and sipping at his third glass of scotch (his dad was gonna be _pissed_ when he eventually opened up the liquor cabinet, only to find half of his bottle gone) when he finally spotted the guest of honor, hunched in a corner, nursing a bottle of cream soda and generally looking miserable.

“Hey,” Stiles said, when he finally worked up the nerve to go over and talk to him. “You. Person. Well, werewolf. That’s still a person, though. Werewolves are people, too.”

Derek glanced over. He lowered the bottle to dangle from his fingers, licking his lips. Stiles tried not to stare. They were so red though. His lips, not his fingers. His fingers were the normal color.

“Your fingers are pink,” he said. He blinked over at Derek, whose brow was now furrowed in confusion. “That sounded better in my head.”

“You’re drunk,” Derek just said, and took another swig from his bottle.

“Yep, that’s me. Drunk.” Stiles shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So you and Cora, you’re back. That’s cool. Like, really cool.” He felt his eyes dip down to Derek’s mouth again. It was just so… “Red. I mean. Um. Yeah, you’re back in Beacon Hills. Bee to the Hizzatch. Beacon of the Hills. Hales. Huh. You know, Hills sounds a lot like Hale?” He snapped his mouth shut with a click as he felt his face heat up.

Derek shrugged, glancing away from Stiles to stare into the depths of his fizzy soda.

Stiles was starting to regret that third glass of whisky. There was let-go-of-your-inhibitions drunk, make-a-fool-of-yourself drunk, and then there was this.

“I read your blog,” Stiles blurted. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to comment on any of the entries. The pack only told me about it, like, three days ago. Otherwise I would have left you comments on all the entries. Just ask Scott about his middle school blog, I give the best comments.”

“You read my blog?”

Was it just Stiles, or were Derek’s cheeks pinker than they had been a moment ago?

“Yeah, dude, totally. It was super informative. Like that article on Wichita, man, way to go in depth on all the things you saw there.”

Derek took a quick sip from his bottle. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think Derek was trying to hide a smile. Trying to hide a smile in response to Stiles’ joke. Because Derek thought Stiles’ joke was funny.

Did Derek think Stiles was funny?

Holy shit, Derek thought Stiles _was funny_.

Before Stiles had the chance to examine the ramifications of being funny according to Derek “I never laugh because I don’t deserve happiness” Hale, the man in question shuffled and turned to face Stiles.

“Congratulations. By the way.”

“Huh?”

Derek waved his bottle in the general direction of Scott’s love-seat. Scott, Allison, and Isaac were currently crushed together, engaged in a fierce bout of Super Smash Bros with Cora.

“You know. You and…” Derek trailed off, taking another pull of cream soda.

“Me and…? Use your words, Derek.” Stiles flailed his hands a little for emphasis. “It may come as a surprise to you, but reading minds is not among my many superpowers.” He couldn’t help but grin at him, though. It seemed like such typical Derek, to try to communicate using as few words as possible.

Maybe the Derek that had come back wasn’t so different from the one that had left. Stiles really shouldn’t be so happy about that, but there he was, smiling over at Derek like an idiot.

Derek, who had somehow managed to look even more uncomfortable than his natural guilt and incompetence usually rendered him.

After a long pause, he squeezed his eyes shut and grated out, “Scott.”

Stiles blinked. Scott what? Derek had been saying something about Stiles and Scott, together. What was it? _Congratulations._

Oh, shit. He’d almost forgotten about the whole fake boyfriend thing.

“Right, um,” Stiles said, with all the eloquence that three glasses of whisky would allow. “Thanks.”

Derek swallowed, his face still fixed on the sofa. His next words were quiet, almost inaudible to Stiles’ human ears. “Does he make you happy?”

“What?” Stiles asked. He was not prepared to answer these sorts of questions about his not-boyfriend. “Yeah. I mean. Why wouldn’t he?”

Derek smiled at Stiles, a small, pinched expression. It was something Stiles was unused to seeing, from Derek, but it fit well with the whole I-will-never-experience-true-happiness vibe Derek had going. “I should go mingle.”

“Okay, yeah, totally,” Stiles babbled. “I mean, it’s your party, you can cry if you want to. Not that I think you’re gonna cry. It’s, like, from a song. Stop glaring at me.” Stiles sighed as Derek stalked off, his shoulders hunched. “Dude, way to ignore me. I know you have werewolf hearing, you’re not gonna get away with pretending you didn’t hear me. You could probably hear me talking shit about you from out of state, if you wanted.” Derek didn’t turn around.

Fuck. Stiles walked over to the desserts table and stuffed a couple brownies in his mouth, tucking them into his cheeks for safe-keeping. Maybe he could cuddle on the floor with Scott while he Super Smashed it up.

“Hey,” Scott said as Stiles approached the couch, his eyes still focused on the television screen. “Cora’s kicking our butts.”

Cora snorted from her position on the floor. “Understatement. I am a master of this game.”

Peter ruffled her hair, causing her to curse as her character almost fell off the platform. “You learned from the best.”

“Did not, you were terrible at this game—”

Stiles turned back to Scott and poked at his brownie-filled cheeks. “Wanna cuddle?” he tried to say. Unfortunately, it came out more like a mashed up collection of vowels.

“Huh?” Scott asked. Stiles reached down to tug gently at his wrist, but Scott pulled it out of his grasp. “Not now, Stiles, I’ll let you play after this match.”

Stiles felt the hollow pit in his stomach widen. He headed back to the kitchen. He was out of whisky, and something told him he’d need another glass to make it through the rest of the night.


	6. Party Foul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Don’t Look at Me Like That - David Condos](http://davidcondos.bandcamp.com/track/dont-look-at-me-like-that)

“You have to come out of the kitchen eventually,” Scott said, and since the ceiling lights were pleasantly spinny and the brownies were out in the living room, Stiles didn’t see why this was a problem.

“Why?” he asked anyway.

“How many of those have you had?” Scott asked, frowning down at the glass in Stiles’ hands.

“Seven!” He grinned. “Just kidding. That’s how you know I’m sober. Because I can still tell jokes.”

“Uh huh,” Scott said. “Give me your car keys.”

Stiles shook his head. “I hid them so I wouldn’t drive. It’s a secret.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. He looked suspicious. Stiles didn’t like it when Scott was suspicious. “They’re in the couch, aren’t they?” Scott asked.

Stiles nearly threw his glass of scotch across the room. “How did you guess?” he whined. “It was a _secret_!”

Scott stalked out of the kitchen, muttering something under his breath about werewolves and alcohol and best friends.

Stiles spent the next five minutes trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing, before he remembered that he needed to go to the living room, to make sure his car keys were still hidden under the couch cushions.

***

Unfortunately, Stiles wasn’t able to check the couch for his keys, because Allison and Isaac were still sitting on it. On the plus side, Cora’s thighs were soft, and she didn’t seem to mind when he laid his head on her lap during the character selection screen.

“Hey, do you want to maybe watch a movie after this?” Allison suggested, eyeballing the new corner where Broody McBroodface was drinking his cream soda.

Isaac and Scott both made a chorus of approving noises, and Cora said, “Only if it’s not the Notebook.”

When Cora’s Samus finally booted Allison’s Zelda into the horizon for a final time, Scott flipped over to Netflix and announced, “Since it’s Derek and Cora’s party, they get to choose the movie,” which was met simultaneously with groans from everyone else in the room, and Cora’s audible cackle.

Cora was still thumbing through her choices when Scott said, “Come on, time for movie snuggles.” Stiles brightened at the thought of finally getting to cuddle with his best friend, but then Scott added, “that means you too, Derek,” and Stiles felt his entire body tense.

Shit, shit, shit.

It felt like all the alcohol evaporated from his veins at once, as Stiles’ vague sense of euphoria transformed to nausea almost instantly.

Stiles just wanted five minutes of peace. Every minute he spent with Derek was like the Inappropriate Unrequited Lust show. He couldn’t help being attracted to Derek, and every time Scott noticed, he kept asking to break up. Like if he could only foist Stiles off on someone else, he could get rid of him without feeling guilty.

Fuck that. Scott _should_ feel guilty.

“I gotta pee,” he blurted, stumbling to his feet. He could feel eyes on his back as he walked down the hall towards Melissa’s bedroom. He slipped into the master bathroom and rested his hands on the counter next to the sink.

In the mirror, Stiles looked haggard; he had dark circles from the lack of sleep, bloodshot eyes from the alcohol, and his hair was flattened in the front and stuck up in the back from running his hands through it too many times.

He wasn’t terribly surprised when Scott pushed the door open all the way and stepped in behind Stiles. “Hey,” he said, his eyes wide with concern, “are you okay?”

Stiles grit his teeth. “Peachy keen. I’m drunk and you’re oblivious.” He twisted to look over at Scott, still hovering in the doorway. “You do realize that everyone in the house except Allison can hear our conversation?”

Scott looked briefly guilty. “Am I not allowed to worry about you?”

Stiles shut his eyes, refusing to give in to the urge to punch something. “Maybe I just want you to stop pushing me on Derek.”

Stiles heard the sound of Scott swallowing. “I’m not—”

“God, you don’t get it, do you?” Stiles snapped, opening his eyes and turning around. “Look, just because I’m attracted to someone else doesn’t mean I want to break up with you.”

Scott looked gutted. His quiet misery wasn’t enough to deter Stiles, though.

“I know you’re not over Allison, okay? I don’t expect you to be. But, I just…” He sighed, closing his eyes in anticipation of the next words out of his mouth. He was probably going to regret this. But it didn’t matter, because he was drunk enough that he was going to regret the entire evening. “Maybe I’m not over you.”

“What?” Scott’s expression switched from guilty to startled in an instant.

“I love you, okay? And these last few weeks have been… fucking awesome, for me.” Fuck it, he could feel the incipient headache coming on. “And I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s fine, I can deal, but just…” Stiles covered his face in his hands and tried to remember to breathe. He was not going to have a panic attack.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said, eventually. He sounded small.

“No, you’re not! If you were sorry, you wouldn’t keep…” Stiles ground his teeth together, some small warning bell in his head stopping himself from saying anything else incriminating in front of the werewolves. “Maybe you’re right; maybe we should break up.”

“Stiles, I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever, I’m just gonna… go.” Stiles turned to exit the bathroom.

The worst thing? Was that _everyone_ would know. There was a roomful of werewolves that had heard every word. Who would know exactly what Stiles was afraid of. Could tell that he wasn’t lying when he said he loved Scott. It wasn’t exactly the love that they all thought it was, but that didn’t make it less important. It didn’t make Stiles hurt any less when Scott kept pushing him away.

Scott didn’t follow him out of the house, thankfully, and the werewolves were all carefully focused on the television, not Stiles, as he slipped out the front door. It wasn’t until he got to his Jeep that he remembered that his keys were still buried under the sofa.

“Fuck!” He kicked at the front tire, and immediately regretted it, his toes throbbing. A shadow fell over him, and he flinched, not bothering to turn around. “Scott, I’m sorry, but I _really_ don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles whipped around at the sound of Derek’s voice.

Derek’s head was tipped forward so that he was looking up at Stiles from under his eyebrows. His hands were stuffed in his jeans pockets, and his body was hunched defensively, as though expecting a blow. “Do you need a ride home?”

“Uh,” Stiles said.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to stay the night,” Derek added, “and you were drinking earlier.”

“Oh.” Stiles felt his throat constrict. “Yeah. That would be… thanks.”

Derek simply nodded and turned towards his car, expecting Stiles to follow him, like always. Stiles tried not to hate himself for proving him right.


	7. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Say Something - A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2U0Ivkn2Ds)

Stiles was silent for most of the drive home, staring out the window as the streetlights rolled by. It was easier than looking at Derek, anyway. Stiles’ eyes flicked over to Derek’s reflection in the window. He was staring out at the road ahead in his typical broody fashion, but every few seconds his eyes would flick to the side, to land on Stiles, and his expression would morph from the generic blend of anger and angst that he usually wore to something else. Something like concern, maybe. No, more than that.

It took Stiles more than half of the drive to put a name to Derek’s furrowed brow, his slightly pursed mouth, the intensity in his eyes. Derek was wistful. Derek _wanted_.

The realization stole the breath from Stiles’ lungs.

“Stiles,” Derek said, then repeated, increasingly urgently, because Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the air moving in and out of his mouth in short, sharp bursts.

The next thing he knew, Derek had pulled over onto the side of the road. He gripped Stiles’ shoulder tight, just shy of painful, and stared at him with big, freaked out eyes.

Stiles sucked in air through his nose, concentrated on holding his breath for a full five seconds before exhaling and trying again.

“I’m good, I’m okay, it’s fine now, you can let go,” Stiles babbled, and Derek jerked back as though burned. “Dude, what? I’m not mad.”

Derek just stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slack.

“Stop freaking out, why are you freaking out, I thought that was my job.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back to the front, his hand trembling on the gearshift as he shifted the car into first gear and pulled back out onto the road.

“Seriously, what’s wrong? I thought I was the one who just had a massive fight with my best friend.”

Derek barked out a sharp, bitter laugh. His anger was comforting, almost; anger was so much more familiar on Derek than the awkwardness that he’d been displaying around Stiles the rest of the evening.

“What?” Stiles snapped, falling back into the familiar pattern of anger meeting anger.

“Nothing.” Derek kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“No, seriously. You laughed at me, that was not a nice laugh. I want to know why.”

“You don’t call him your boyfriend.”

Stiles swallowed as he registered the slip.

Derek gritted his teeth. “I just…”

Stiles slumped back into his seat, figuring Derek was either going to talk, or he wasn’t.

“It must be nice.”

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, for the first time since getting in the car. “Nice?”

“That he’s still your best friend, more than just your boyfriend.” Then, quieter, “That you have a best friend.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles swallowed. “I might not have that, anymore.”

Derek growled. Swear to God, his eyes flashed blue and he snarled. Stiles shrank back in his seat.

“What the fuck, dude?”

“You deserve someone who loves you just as much as you love them.” His eyes changed back to their normal grey-green and his claws (holy shit, Derek’s claws had come out) shrank back to human lengths. “You deserve better.”

“Don’t tell me I deserve better than Scott.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you!” Derek snapped. He clamped his jaw shut, as though he were fighting for control over his shift. “If he doesn’t love you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Who the fuck are you to say he doesn’t love me?”

Derek slowed to a stop and turned off the car, before turning to face Stiles. Stiles turned to look outside. They were still a couple blocks from his house.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “I know it’s not my business, but…”

“Yeah? You going to tell me who does and doesn’t love me?” Stiles could feel something flaring up in his gut. Not quite anger, but just as warm.

Derek’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “Get out.”

Stiles blinked. “What the _hell_ , Derek?”

“ _Get out_ , before I do something we’ll both regret.”

“Jesus, fine!” Stiles unfastened his seatbelt and flung the door open, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get out of the car.

Derek pulled away as soon as Stiles had slammed the car door shut. “Fuck you too, asshole!” Stiles shouted, loud enough to wake up the neighbors.

He stomped the last block and a half to his house in petulant silence.

***

When Stiles woke up the next morning, he noticed three things.

The first, and most unpleasant, was that he had the mother of all hangovers. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in there, died, and then sucked out all the moisture; his head was pounding arrhythmically and more intensely than a samba; and his stomach was trying to shrivel up and possibly expel itself through the nearest bodily cavity. He crawled to the bathroom and choked down two aspirin and a glass of water before crawling back to his room and collapsing on his bed.

When he blinked back to consciousness a few hours later, he reached for his phone, and noticed the second thing: namely, that he had a crap-ton of missed calls and text messages. He scrolled past the ones from Scott without even looking at the contents. Isaac had asked “U ok bro?” and Allison had said “Let me know if you ever need to talk” less than a minute later. Peter, creep that he was, had sent “Have you seen my nephew this morning?” along with a goddamn winky face. Cora had forwarded a picture message, labeled “wtf?” He opened up the image from Cora.

Scott and Derek were both wolfed out, facing each other. Allison was grabbing onto Scott’s jacket but looked freaked out, and Isaac was hiding behind the couch.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

Stiles was about to send a reply when he noticed the third thing.

The third thing being a werewolf falling off of his roof.

Stiles dashed over to the window and slid it open. Derek was lying in the grass below, looking a little stunned.

“What the _hell_?”

Derek blinked up at Stiles, scrambled to his feet, and ran off.

“Hey, don’t run away, asshole! Why the fuck were you sleeping on my roof?”

Derek, of course, ignored him, and soon was out of sight.

Stiles started to dial Derek’s number, but a glance at the missed call notification, and the tug of guilt in his stomach, made him stop and dial Scott instead.

Scott picked up on the first ring. The first words out of his mouth were, “You did that on purpose, right?”

Contrary to popular belief, Stiles did, in fact, have a brain-to-mouth filter. For instance, he did not say, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, “Did what on purpose?”

“Broke up with me!” Scott said. “I know I kept bugging you, but I thought we’d talk about it first before you did something.”

Stiles choked on his spit. “What?”

There was a moment of silence on the other line. “It was the perfect excuse to end it, right? I’m not imagining things?”

Stiles swallowed. Of course Scott would leap at the opportunity to dump him. “Yeah,” Stiles said. If he had been talking to Derek, he would have sensed the lie, but Scott had a knack for hearing what he wanted to hear. “So, um, I guess we’re broken up now, according to the pack?”

Scott was quiet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Stiles forced false cheer into his voice. “Sure, fine. Just, you might want to wait a week or two until you start dating someone else.”

“Good idea,” Scott agreed. “You wanna come over and play Call of Duty?”

Stiles breathed in through his nose. “Nah, we should probably avoid each other for a bit. We just broke up, after all.”

“Oh, right,” Scott said, and Stiles felt a vindictive stab of pleasure at the disappointment in his voice. “Well, um, let me know when you think it’ll be okay for us to hang out again.”

“Sure,” Stiles said. “Talk to you later.”

“Okay,” Scott said, still sounding unsure, and Stiles clicked the end call button before he could say anything else.

He flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t even been dating Scott, not really. They had been faking, that was all. He knew it was going to end eventually. So why did it feel like his chest had caved in? Why did it hurt so much to breathe?

_In and out_ , Stiles reminded himself. One breath at a time, he would keep going until it stopped hurting.


	8. Weekend Woes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Equinox - Marian Call](http://mariancall.bandcamp.com/track/equinox)

Stiles spent the rest of the day in his room. Since one of the deputies had just quit, his dad had volunteered for a double shift, and Stiles was alone in the house. He remained undisturbed once he turned off his cell phone and tugged the covers over his head. He managed to sleep away a large chunk of the afternoon before stumbling downstairs, fixing a sandwich, and retreating back to his lair.

He hadn’t expected Scott to feel bad about their breakup, but his stomach still bottomed out when he woke up and remembered their conversation. His alarm clock glared back at him through the darkness, displaying the numbers 2:17. This had been the longest period in the month-and-change since he and Scott had started “dating” that Stiles had gone without talking to his best friend.

Stiles turned his phone back on to check his messages. His inbox was flooded, but there was nothing from Scott.

Tossing the phone onto the bedspread, Stiles rubbed the sleep from his eyes and padded downstairs. His dad was sitting at the kitchen table, case files spread out in front of him.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Stiles asked, and his dad startled.

“The hell, kid. Why aren’t you in bed?”

Stiles shrugged, making a beeline for the carton of cranberry juice in the fridge door. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“I know the feeling,” his dad replied.

Stiles grabbed the orange juice while he had the fridge door open and walked over to the table to peer over his dad’s shoulder. His dad didn’t bother hiding anything from him these days, just sighed and acted put-upon.

Stiles filled his dad’s currently empty tumbler with orange juice. “What’s this?” he asked, nodding at the files spread out on the table.

His dad took a swig of juice and grimaced. Whatever, he needed the vitamin C. “Just checking over some cold cases to see if they could have been werewolf related.”

Stiles fidgeted with the plastic juice cap. “You could always ask Derek.”

His dad lifted an eyebrow. “Since when are you advocating interaction with Derek Hale?”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s not that bad. More bark than bite.”

His dad frowned at him. “Okay, now I know something’s wrong. You just made a dog joke at Derek’s expense, and you don’t even look happy about it.”

Stiles winced, grabbing the orange juice bottle from the table and screwing the lid back on. “‘M fine,” he mumbled.

His dad sighed. “Look, I get that you don’t want to talk about it, but don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ crap.” He reached out to grab Stiles’ wrist and squeezed lightly. “We promised no more lying, remember?”

Stiles finally looked up to meet his dad’s gaze. He was expecting disappointment, or pity, but all he saw was understanding and exasperated fondness.

“Stand up,” Stiles said.

His dad looked confused for a fraction of a second before his expression cleared and he stood, gathering Stiles in his arms.

“Stilinskis give the best hugs,” Stiles murmured against his dad’s chest.

“You know I love you, kid.”

“Yeah, dad.”

His father pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “Because if you need more hugs, you should tell me.”

Stiles shook his head. “Get back to your cold cases.”

He felt something clog his throat when his dad went in for another hug, instead.

“Now get back to bed,” his dad said when he finally pulled away.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles said, complete with a sloppy mock salute, before stumbling back up the stairs, his chest feeling lighter than before.

***

Stiles spent the rest of the weekend watching reruns of Big Bang Theory on his laptop and eating Cheetos in his bed. Whatever. He was entitled to a bit of moping.

There were a couple times he thought he spotted a leather jacket and dark hair lurking in his backyard, but by the time he walked over to the bedroom window, the yard was empty. The third time he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, he slid the window open and dialed Derek’s cellphone. He couldn’t hear any ringing outside before the call went to voicemail, though. Maybe the creeperwolf had set it to silent.

“Hey, stalker,” Stiles drawled after the beep. “Thanks for the ride home Friday night, but if you could stop the Edward Cullen watching-me-while-I-sleep routine, it would do wonders for my already fragile psyche.” He paused. “Um, that’s all. Bye.” He pressed the end call button and stared out into the darkening sky, his arms propped against the windowsill. After a long minute, he said, “I don’t really mind, you know. I’m glad someone cares. So, um.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks.” He shut the window with slightly unsteady hands.

Derek probably hadn’t even been around to hear him, anyway.

Stiles flipped through his unread text messages afterwards, but gave up halfway through, exhausted by the sheer volume. He mass deleted his texts and curled back up in bed, loading the next episode and letting his eyes drift shut as Sheldon pestered Penny for the twelve hundredth time.

When he woke up to the angry blaring of his alarm the next morning, his laptop was set on his desk with the lid closed, even though he could have sworn he’d fallen asleep mid-episode. Propping himself up on one elbow, he looked over to his left, and, sure enough, the window was cracked open.

He didn’t see a text from Derek, or any missed call notifications, but he still smiled to himself as he locked the window.


	9. Pack Invasion, or: the Day Stiles Couldn't Sit Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Be Gentle with Me - The Boy Least Likely To](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-tknrTkxBeU)

Stiles was furtively sneaking bites of his peanut butter sandwich under the disapproving eye of the librarian behind the circulation desk, when someone came up behind him and flicked his ear.

“Agh!” he said, through a mouthful of peanut butter and multi-grain bread.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Lydia said, pulling out the chair next to Stiles and sliding into it with a careful tuck of her skirt.

“’M n’t,” he started, then swallowed. “I’m not a baby. You’re just legitimately terrifying.”

Lydia smiled. Stiles scooted his chair three inches to the left and crossed his legs preemptively.

“Why are you even here?” Stiles asked. “Shouldn’t you be terrorizing the lunchtime crowds with your flawless hair and general aura of perfection?”

Lydia reached out and patted Stiles’ arm, the look on her face expressing how very sorry she was that Stiles couldn’t match her vast intellect. “I’m here because you’re here.”

Stiles looked down at Lydia’s French manicure, now curled around his bicep. “What?”

Lydia removed her hand and rolled her eyes. “I swear, you’re as dumb as Scott sometimes.”

Ugh, Scott. Stiles had been trying not to think about Scott. Whatever expression showed on his face, it must have been both pathetic and horrifying, because Lydia pursed her lips in distaste.

“Sorry,” Stiles replied on automatic.

“Fine,” Lydia said, “no talking about Scott.” She inspected her nails. “I heard you didn’t ruin Derek’s party.” She tilted her head. “Well, not with the planning portion, at least.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Lydia’s smile returned, but Stiles did not feel comforted. “I was hoping for some pointers on werewolf-proofing for my next birthday bash.”

Stiles blinked. Lydia was asking him for help on something? “Yeah!” he blurted. “Yeah, yes, I can totally help with that. Let me get my notebook out, it has all my notes from planning Derek’s party.” Lydia leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed against her chest, as Stiles rambled on about werewolves’ dietary requirements and the importance of Peter-proofing.

He jumped in his chair when the bell signaled the end of lunch period. Lydia caught his eye and smirked. “My, how the time flies,” she said. “See you in math, Stiles,” she added, and sauntered out the front doors of the library. Stiles spent a few seconds staring after her, wondering what the hell had just happened, before cramming the last third of his sandwich in his mouth, slinging on his backpack, and hurrying off to History.

***

“Hey,” Aiden-or-possibly-Ethan said, falling into step next to Stiles as he left his English class. It was difficult for Stiles to distinguish between the twins when they weren’t sucking face with their respective significant others.

“Sup?” Ethan-or-Aiden said from Stiles’ other side.

“Uh. Hi?” Stiles said, looking rapidly between the two of them. “Are you planning to murder me as soon as we exit the school grounds? Because I have to say, that was not how I pictured spending the afternoon.”

Aiden-Ethan smirked. “You’re way too paranoid, Stilinski.” He glanced over at his brother. “Maybe we just wanted to play catch.”

“Oh, yes, toss-the-Stiles, that’s a popular sport among huskies, I hear. Don’t you guys have better things to do? Like making out with your boy slash girlfriends?”

Ethan-Aiden clapped his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles did not jump at the contact. Not even a little. “We heard you own that magic doorway game, or whatever.”

“Doorway?” Stiles asked, scrunching his face in confusion.

“Portal,” Aiden-Ethan corrected. “We heard you have Portal 2.”

“Uh… I guess? I mean, I bought it, like, a year and a half ago, but…”

“Good,” Ethan-Aiden said, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles winced.

“We’ve heard good things about the co-op mode,” Aiden-Ethan added.

“Right,” Stiles said, eyeballing the front doors and calculating how long it would take him to run to his car and whether he could lose both twins in the crowd. “Yeah. So. I’ll just be… going home now.”

Ethan-Aiden gave him a push out the front doors. “We’ll see you later, then.”

***

Stiles managed to calm down on the drive home, and by six thirty, he was chilling in his room looking up angora rabbits on Wikipedia. (Damn, those things were fluffy. Derek would look hilarious picking that amount of fur out of his teeth.) He had just clicked on the hyperlink for the American Rabbit Breeders Association when the doorbell rang.

His dad wasn’t home, and he wasn’t expecting any packages, so he remained on high alert as he tiptoed down the stairs and peeked through the peephole.

When he looked out onto the front step, though, it was just Ethan and Aiden, one twin carrying a six pack of root beer, the other with a paper bag of takeout tucked under his arm, and both of them sporting douchey sunglasses. 

Stiles opened the door tentatively. “Hey,” drink-holder said, pushing his way inside and turning towards the kitchen, while food-carrier just nodded and followed silently.

“What are you doing in my house?”

The twins exchanged matching smirks. “We’re here to play Portal,” said food-carrier, alias Aiden-Ethan.

Stiles blinked. “Wait, what?”

“We brought Chinese,” Ethan-Aiden added. “We heard you like crab cheese wontons.”

Stiles eyes lit up. “What? Yes! Where? Gimme!”

Aiden-Ethan turned to his twin and commented, “We’ve finally figured out how to reduce him to one-word sentences. Just need to feed him.”

“Shut up,” Stiles said, already pawing through the bag of takeout and opening all the containers. There were two orders of crab cheese wontons, an order of egg rolls, steamed rice, fried rice, orange chicken, beef with broccoli, what appeared to be egg drop soup… “Okay, you can stay. Bowls are in the far left cabinet, silverware in the top drawer.”

Aiden-Ethan turned to poke through the takeout bag. “I think there are chopsticks in here.”

“You do not want to see me use chopsticks, man, it is _terrifying_. I got sesame chicken in my dad’s hair once, he wasn’t even sitting next to me at the time.”

Ethan-Aiden grinned as Stiles inhaled one of the wontons. “Mind if we invite over part of the pack? We bought a lot of food.”

Stiles’ mouth was too full of delicious deep fried cream cheese to protest, so he just shrugged. “I’m not sharing the wontons,” he said after swallowing.

“Noted,” Aiden-Ethan said, as Ethan-Aiden started typing on his cell phone. “So how do we set up the PlayStation?”

***

Allison was the first to arrive, looking at Stiles with big, sad, puppy dog eyes that were unfortunately reminiscent of Scott. Lydia sauntered in a few minutes later, and she settled in next to the twin that Stiles had been internally denoting Ethan-Aiden. Well, whatever, it was a fifty fifty chance. He mentally renamed the twins, and was pleased to note that Danny’s boyfriend knew enough about Portal to correct his brother’s mangling of the name. He lost points for not being able to get past the first level, though.

They ended up ordering pizza after the third (failed) attempt at the intro level.

Shortly after that, Danny came and sat in Ethan’s lap, effectively freeing up the controller. Lydia had already stolen Aiden’s controller, so Allison grabbed the other one, and they finally started making progress in the game. Thank God.

Stiles had finished the last wonton and was absently picking at a slice of pepperoni when Derek padded into the living room, eyeing the twins suspiciously as he headed towards the far corner. “Dude,” Stiles said, scowling at the assorted werewolves and humans invading his house. “Peter better not be coming next. I’m not letting him inside my house.”

Aiden glanced over from where he was seated between Lydia’s thighs. Lucky bastard. “Of course not, we didn’t text Peter.”

“Yet somehow, he always finds out anyway,” Stiles pointed out, but by then Aiden had gone back to staring at the screen and running his hand up and down Lydia’s leg. 

By the time Isaac came in, holding a box of Twinkies out in offering (and dammit, no one besides Scott was supposed to know of Stiles’ Twinkie obsession), Stiles’ Adderall had worn off, making it impossible to think straight, and he was starting to get a headache from the chatter in the living room. He grabbed the Twinkies from Isaac and stuffed them in the pantry before flopping onto the carpet and staring up at the ceiling. 

He had no idea how werewolves dealt with extra sensory input. Would being a werewolf change his ADHD symptoms? Maybe if he got bit he wouldn’t be able to take his Adderall anymore, but he suspected he’d still have the same problems with focus. Research was a hell of a lot more effective when you could tune everything else out, up to and including things like hygiene and basic bodily functions. So it stood to reason that it wouldn’t be “corrected” like Scott’s asthma. It wasn’t like Scott had gotten smarter. Had he? 

And why did everything always have to cycle back to Scott, anyway?

Stiles looked over at the occupants of the couch. Sure enough, no one was paying attention to him, with the possible exception of Derek, who kept sending him creeptastic glances from the corner of the room.

Stiles sighed and pushed himself back to his feet. “All right, guys, it’s been fun, but I’m going to go to bed.”

Derek frowned. Lydia rolled her eyes. Isaac looked down at the slice of pizza in his hand, as if wondering if he’d need to scarf it down before he got kicked out. Danny and Ethan were making out on the sofa, and Aiden didn’t look away from the television screen. “It’s only eight,” Allison pointed out.

“Yep. Gotta get up for school, bright and early,” Stiles said, annoyance creeping into his tone. “So maybe you could leave? My house? Where you are currently sitting on _my_ couch, playing _my_ video game, on _my_ TV?”

“Stiles,” Lydia said, her voice conveying exasperation.

“Awesome,” Stiles said, before Lydia could chastise him for wanting privacy in his own damn house, “feel free to stay as long as you like. Stay the whole week! I’m sure my father will be delighted to have the company!”

He’d like to think a stunned silence fell over the room, but really, half the room was ignoring him, Allison and Isaac looked confused, and Lydia just seemed irritated. Derek was glaring, but for once it didn’t seem to be directed at Stiles, and instead aimed in the general direction of the sofa.

Stiles gave it up as a lost cause, sighing dramatically as he turned and stomped up the staircase. Halfway to his room, he turned around, walked back to the kitchen to grab a bottle of root beer, and _then_ continued up to his bedroom.

***

Less than five minutes after his escape upstairs, a soft knock sounded on his door. Allison’s voice was subdued when she spoke. “It’s just me. Can we talk?”

Stiles groaned. “No.”

“Scott doesn’t want to break up with you.”

Stiles blinked, strode over to the door, and pulled it open. “What?”

Allison’s brow smoothed out when Stiles opened the door for her. “He’s been miserable since your fight.”

Stiles scowled. “That’s not the same as not wanting to break up with me.”

Allison shook her head. “You don’t see it, do you? How much he loves you.”

Stiles bit his lip, but said nothing.

“Will you call him?” Allison stared at him some more with her big, sad eyes.

“Maybe,” Stiles said, after a long pause. “I’ll think about it.”

Allison smiled tentatively. “Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Stiles grumbled. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did.”

Allison turned and walked back downstairs, and Stiles… well, Stiles was really confused.

On the plus side, when he attempted to sneak downstairs fifteen minutes later to grab a Twinkie, the living room was empty.

***

The next day, at school, Stiles poked his head into the lunchroom. Scott was sitting slumped at one of the long tables in between Isaac and Allison, and he did, in fact, look miserable. He straightened and started glancing around the room as Stiles watched him. When he finally looked straight at Stiles, his eyes widened and his mouth quirked up at the corners. Stiles could practically hear the hopeful intake of breath. The moment was ruined when Allison, who had been saying something when Stiles had walked in, poked Scott in the side, and Scott turned to glare at her.

Stiles fled while Scott’s back was turned. He ended up eating his sandwich in the library again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the title name at the last minute. Other contenders included:
> 
> The Day Stiles Ate Wontons  
> Invasion of the Pack  
> Pack Pain  
> THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP (TM)  
> Lack of Hump Day  
> Pack Party  
> Pack to School


	10. Apology Accepted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: [Flaws - Bastille](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1E36WU9Wzf4)

When Stiles finally broke down and called Scott on Thursday afternoon, he picked up on the first ring.

“Stiles!” His voice sounded ecstatic, like the puppy equivalent of jumping up on his owner when he came back home after a long day at work.

Stiles resisted the urge to melt into a puddle. He needed answers, first. “Did you sic the pack on me?”

Scott swallowed. “Uh… would you hate me if I had?”

Stiles sighed. “Dude, I’m not mad, I just don’t get it.”

“Oh my God, this is so embarrassing. I didn’t. Uh.” Scott cleared his throat. “I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Stiles choked on a half-giggle, half-snort. “Seriously?”

“Ugh, shut up. Look, you’re my best friend, and—“ Scott lowered his voice to a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard and losing his man-card. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, Scott,” Stiles said, a small smile sneaking onto his face despite his better judgment. “I know.”

It didn’t really matter if he Scott were boyfriends, did it? Scott was his best friend. He was Scott’s. Even if another Allison happened along, he and Scott would still fall asleep together watching stupid sitcoms and hit each other with their lacrosse sticks and have biggest sandwich eating competitions. 

“Want to come over?” Stiles asked.

“Wait, what?” Stiles could picture the wrinkle in Scott’s nose, the hopeful curve of his eyebrows.

“I figured we could play Call of Duty, or maybe watch a movie.”

“Really? I mean. Yeah! Of course I—” There were some shuffling noises on the other side, like fabric being dragged over the microphone. “I’ll see you in like ten minutes. Fifteen minutes! Twenty at most. Hanging up now.”

Stiles snickered at his phone and headed downstairs to put a batch of mini-pizzas in the oven.

***

The next morning, when Scott and Stiles stumbled down together for breakfast with matching bed-head, Stiles’ dad just smiled fondly, ran a hand through both boys’ hair, and snagged an extra piece of toast on his way out the door.

***

“Okay,” Scott announced through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, “we need a plan.”

Stiles grabbed another strip of bacon from the communal plate. “A plan for what?”

“To get you laid, duh,” Scott said, beaming across the table.

Stiles choked on his bacon. “Dude, what?”

“Operation: Lose Stiles’ Virginity is a go.”

“Uh huh. You’re the weirdest best friend ever.”

Scott’s eyes crinkled at the words ‘best friend’. “Yeah, well, so are you.” He tapped a spoon against his orange juice glass. “If you could lose your virginity to anyone, who would it be?”

“Scarlett Johansson,” Stiles replied, not missing a beat.

“Okay, let me just contact her agent,” Scott teased. “I’m sure she’ll support a worthy cause.”

Stiles snorted. “Like, what are my restrictions here? In our friend group? Doesn’t have a boyfriend who will eviscerate me?”

Scott tilted his head. “Do you really want to sleep with Lydia?” He paused, considering. “Or Danny?”

“Um, duh?” Stiles bit his lip. “But, yeah, werewolf boyfriends. I sort of like my limbs where they are, thanks.”

“I could…” Scott pursed his lips. “I could talk to Allison or Isaac.”

“What? No. I don’t… I mean, they’re cute, but…”

“But what?”

_They’re yours_ , Stiles thought, and realization struck. “Oh-my-God-you-want-to-sleep-with-Isaac,” he blurted, all in one breath.

Scott blushed, legit went bright red all the way from his chest to his ears. It was pretty damn adorable. “No, I don’t,” he stammered, way too quickly.

“Ha! No, it’s cool, dude, he’s totally hot.” He bit his lip. “I get it, man. Why you wanted to break up with me. If you want to go for Isaac—”

“No!” Scott pushed back from the breakfast table, his back going ramrod straight. “No. I mean, yes, but, you’re my boyfriend, okay? Or best friend, whatever. Do you want to label it as boyfriends, still?”

Stiles blinked back at Scott before smiling stupidly. “Sure, I guess,” he said, the master of nonchalance. “Boyfriends works.”

Scott snorted.

Stiles ignored him, instead chewing thoughtfully on his bacon. “So you want to bang Isaac and still date me?”

Scott rolled his eyes, slouching back into his seat. “This is _Operation Stiles_ , right now. We can deal with me later.”

That wasn’t a no, but Stiles was still gratified to hear that he came first.

Literally.

“Why are you laughing?” Scott asked.

“Never mind,” Stiles replied, swiftly changing the subject. “Okay, so, um, yeah, I like Derek, okay? I think this is pretty obvious. But I doubt he’d want to sex me up.”

Scott grinned. “That’s why we need a plan. A _seduction_ plan.”

“Oh, great,” Stiles said, snorting into his cranberry juice. “Another plan. That’s just… what could possibly go wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _...and they lived happily ever after, snuggling and eating Cheetos and drawing penises on each other's faces when they passed out._
> 
> So I have a sequel, focusing on Stiles/Derek, that's currently with my beta. We're gonna try and get it ready to post starting sometime in February (fingers crossed). Are you excited? I'm excited.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting along the way. :D


End file.
